Little prince, little prince
With claws and teeth
Little prince, little prince
With courage and strength
Little prince, little prince
With death and despair
Little prince, little prince
A hero's tragedy shall thy have
The stone corridors echoed with pattering feet and loud giggling as two young boys sprinted around the great castle with another older boy chasing close to them. His clothing far less prominent as the two young boys he chased, but it was still the red and blue colours of the house that occupied the castle. The young boy gritted his teeth and flared his nostrils, anything to hold in the growing anger towards these troublesome young boys he had been forced to attend to.
"When I catch you little brats I shall-" he stopped short as a guard gave him a cold glare beneath his helm. His eyes travelled down to their shining swords and gulped at the image of his blood staining them; he could not make any threat again the boys. They were princes. Destined kings. And he, Arthur Kirkland, was no more than wet nurse to the little princes. Oh and what a joyous job it is.
The louder prince dragged the other down into the depths, down where they were told never to go and where they were told of tales of tortured prisoners from those who wished to scare them. "Come on Matthew! Let's hide down here, Eyebrows will not think to look here." He said excitedly, however the quieter appeared more uncertain.
"But Alfred, this is a little unfair."
"Exactly, he's so strict and mean to us, let's just get him in trouble so we can get another."
"And then what? Get them in trouble too? Just like you always do?"
Alfred giggled. "You could be a singer, little brother."
Matthew frowned but followed his brother nonetheless. The walls were damp here and moss was growing between the cracks as life chipped away at the stone. Matthew squeezed his brother's hand as the braziers glowed dimly the more steps they climbed down, their shoes one slip away from falling to the bottom. Shadow flames danced to silent music and Matthew swore one of them morphed into human shape for a second. "I want to go back up."
"But we are near the bottom now."
"I want to go back up." He insisted with a warble to his voice.
Alfred felt the iron grip on his hand, felt it shake and heard the whimpers his brother was trying to hide. He sighed. Why was his brother such a baby over anything scary? "Alright, we'll go back up." He groaned and strolled beside his brother as they climbed the steps up. At the top, Alfred was greeted by a claw grasping his tunic. The prince laughed at the red-faced boy. "'Ullo Eyebrows, pleasant day is it not?"
Arthur tightened his grip and gulped down the rest of the anger that threatened to burst. "You."
"Me?"
"He meant nothing by it!" Matthew squeaked as he gripped his brother's arm, but Arthur took no notice.
"You little brat, you think you have it all don't you? You think you can get me replaced, you think maybe you can get me hanged but let me tell you right now, boy." Arthur made sure Prince Alfred's face was inches away from his, close enough to see his own green eyes reflected in the prince's blues. "You will never be rid of me." Arthur smirked at the terrified look on Alfred's face, his meek little face, but it lasted a second before the boy was laughing loudly again.
"I hear Lord Ivan eats the hands of the servants that disappoint him." Alfred said and then chomped down on Arthur's hand. Arthur let go immediately as he yelped, nursing the fresh bite marks in his flesh as laughter echoed in the halls once more.
Arthur cursed under his breath. "One day, I'll have the pleasure of watching Lord Ivan break you."
Twelve years later
Arthur chugged down the wine. He hated these sword play tournaments, they always ended badly. Either one wrong-placed armour or a man's good swing left blood and a corpse in the dirt, and yet, it was considered entertainment. Arthur chuckled and then gulped down another mouthful. His heart sank. He wished this tournament would be over soon and without death involved.
He stood up, swayed a little, and then looked at the armour displayed on the table. He calculated how each part was to be put on, where chains were tied and how tight it should be and wear the swords were more likely to impact. He had spent twelve good years mastering this, mastering slaving away for men higher than him and twelve years he had spent drinking and visiting the local whorehouse from time to time. It wasn't such a bad life, he couldn't have better after all.
The tent's flap was pulled back and in sauntered the young Prince Alfred, all smiles and clean clothing and perfect blond hair. A true Prince. A shame the boy was an utter idiot. Arthur quickly placed the cup of wine on the table. "Apologies, Your Grace." He said robotically.
Alfred just smiled, like he always did. "It's not the first time you have been drunk while attending to me. But it'd better not cause a loss of limb today." It was a jest. Alfred never believed anyone could get close to him to do any damage. Alfred gestured with his hands and Arthur set to work. He grabbed each part of the armour and rapidly placed it where it was meant to be, tied it correctly, checked it was firmly in place and moved onto the next part. All the while, Prince Alfred smiled at him. The smile irritated him greatly, it never left his face. It had been there permanently since Arthur had become his 'squire', though he had been caring for the prince long before the boy could hold a sword without dropping it.
"Does Your Grace fear Lord Ivan? He is famous for his...unfair play during these tournaments." Arthur asked as he clipped the breastplate into place, feeling Prince Alfred's breath tickling his cheek. He always smelled of something familiar, something he just couldn't place but it was sweet and not something that reflected his personality.
"Of course not, why would I be scared of some Snowborn Lord?" Prince Alfred chortled.
You should be. "Of course not, Your Grace." Arthur stood and turned to the last piece of the armour. The embroidered sword of the house with it's lion-headed hilt and perfectly sculpted sharpness. His gut twisted as his hand wrapped around the hilt, all the images of young men carrying swords into war, of slicing other young men down, of throwing the sword down and running away when war showed it's true singular colour. Arthur gasped and dropped the sword back onto the table with a loud clang, his hand shaking. "I am sorry Your Grace, the wine must be effecting me more than I had thought-" he froze. There it was, right there, a hand covering his and dragging it towards the hilt again. They both picked it up and Arthur's breath hitched as the sword was brought close to his body by the controlling hand around his own. A heavy head rested on his shoulder and laughed. "Your Grace?" Arthur squeaked.
"I hear the queens of past kings used to kiss the king's sword when he went off to war. When he returned, the queen would then kiss the king as the sword would be too bloody. It was seen as good luck, as a union of devotion, but I always thought true devotion was never about kissing a sword. A sword is just an object, a means to attack and defend, but a kiss is a promise. A promise that lasts a lifetime."
Arthur gulped down his fear and tried to answer in a normal voice. "And what promise would that be, Your Grace?" He was answered with silence, but that silence turned into something pressing against his cheek. His eyes squeezed shut as his breath suddenly quickened in fright, a shadow passing before his closed eyes. Cold steel pressed against his other cheek and his head was forced to move to the side where lips greeted his own. Disgust and surprise raged through his body but he was paralysed and simply waited for the lips to leave his. They did and Arthur's eyes opened to look into saddened blues; but the smile, it was still there and still strong.
"I fear I may never take a queen and I fear my father will force into an unhappy union. The only union I want is here."
Arthur blinked. He could not believe what he was hearing or seeing, the prince's face was utterly honest. Arthur flicked his free hand around and smacked the boy on his head. Prince Alfred winced and moved away. Arthur turned the sword on him with a bewildered gleam to his eyes. "What do you bloody take me for? Some whore, is that it? I have known you since you were old enough to piss in a straight line. So you keep your hands to your bloody self!"
Prince Alfred rubbed the mark where the fist had impacted and stared at the ground. He appeared hurt in spirit, but then he started to laugh again as he always did. His laugh grew louder and happier and Arthur looked completely misplaced as shifted on one foot to the other, swaying the sword still. Why was he laughing? What was there to laugh about? "Have you gone mad already, boy?"
Prince Alfred straightened himself and tried to hold his laughter in. "Mad, no. Madly in love is far more accurate."
"And what would you know of love?"
"Truthfully, nothing at all. You may have known me since I was a boy, Eyebrows, but every day since I have silently thanked my father for appointing you as my squire, as my friend."
"Friend? You wanted rid of me if I remember correctly."
Prince Alfred took a step forward. "Maybe at the beginning but you were too stubborn no matter what I tried to do. Even when you threatened to dangle me from the window of the highest room in the castle, you never gave up on me." He came so close the end of the sword was touching the middle of his chest, there he stopped and continued. "After a while I grew to like messing with you, then I grew older and when most boys start looking at girls I couldn't stop looking at you. And I know these...perversions...are not what a future king should be desiring but what can I do but share that burden with you? Arthur," Alfred's eyes shone so brightly, like the sapphire waters in the lake near where Arthur had grown up. That little village with a little name that cared very little for him. "Haven't you ever wondered why I smile so much? It's because I see those funny eyebrows of yours and that scowl on your face and the insults that leave your mouth, all of those things, they made me fall in love with you."
The two of them stared at each other for a while, no words, just the chatter of the world outside the tent moving on as if the world wasn't ending. As if Arthur's world wasn't crumbling around him. He glared at the little prince. He shoved the hilt of the sword into the boy's hand and made sure he was inches away from that face of his. Now, it wasn't smiling and the blues mixed with his reflected green. "If you die today then I shall be finishing that wine in celebration." Arthur hissed. His eyes closed as he kissed the cold sword and opened to that bright smile once again.
"Let us hope I do not die then. Otherwise some poor men will have to drag your drunken body to the king and then you would stupidly explain why you are drunk and lose your head. Or maybe he will pluck those eyebrows one hair at a time."
Prince Alfred let the jokes hang in the air as he nodded his head and left the tent. Arthur stared after him and felt a pain in his stomach. The little prince held perversions for him and was about to enter a tournament in which he may die. Arthur stormed over to the cup of wine and stared into the endless redness. He shook his head and poured the wine on the ground and into the dirt.
Today was not the day to drink himself into oblivion.
This is just a 'test chapter' as I like to call it. Just to see if this type of AU would be liked and people would want to see more of it. It will have a lot of Game of Thrones undertones as well as the BBC Merlin series as both are great inspirations for this. This isn't the official first chapter so if people would like to see more then please review and I will craft a plot together.
As I've said, this is more based on Game of Thrones and will have plenty of more characters and little plots here and there if I end up writing it. I even plan to have a little Joffrey or Ramsey-like character for one of our more sweeter Hetalia nations mwahaha.
Other than that, I hope you enjoyed!